How much further to the junction? My feet are starting to cramp. I was thinking about that old jar of buttons you left on the sideboard. The one with the brass ones from your grandfather's old coat. Do you still have the wooden lid for it, or is it just sitting there collecting dust now? You've been so distracted lately.
The junction is probably ten miles back, honestly. The GPS is being useless. And who cares about a jar? It's just a jar. If it's gathering dust, it's because nobody's looking for it. You say that like it’s a tragedy. Listen to this—no, wait, this track is terrible. You're just being restless because you're bored with the road. It's not because of the buttons.
Ten miles? You said it was thirty when we left the house. This GPS is a liar. And don't pull that "it's just a jar" crap. You're acting like nothing matters because you finally quit that marketing firm. It’s the brass ones, the ones you used to polish every Sunday. You're just being defensive because you're trying to convince yourself that everything is fine.
I didn't polish them every Sunday. That’s a complete invention. And the firm was just a job, Omar. People leave jobs. It doesn't turn you into a philosopher. You're making this a whole thing about my life when we're just driving through nothing. Is there a way to make the road go faster? This song is too loud for this mood. It’s just brass. Stop acting like it's some heavy sort of inheritance.
You didn't polish them every Sunday, but you used to sit there with them. That's different. And you didn't just leave the firm; you walked out during the lunch break. You didn't even take your desk lamp. Now you're acting like it was some grand, inevitable choice. Just turn the volume down. This static is giving me a headache. Is there a petrol station before the bridge?
The lamp was ugly, so why bother? It’s not like it was a dramatic exit. You’re twisting everything into this grand narrative of my supposed breakdown. And how do you even know the exact minute I walked out? It’s just a bridge. We’ll find a station. I’ll turn it down, but don't complain when the silence gets too loud. People aren't supposed to be this constant about everything.
Because you called me at twelve-fifteen to tell me you were finally free. You didn't even mention the lamp, but we both know it was heavy. You’re being uncharitable about the silence. Most people would prefer it to this constant back-and-forth. Just look for a sign. If we don't find fuel by the time we hit the valley, the engine's going to start knocking again.
Twelve-fifteen was a random time, not a proclamation of freedom. You’re acting like a single phone call defines the whole year. And who says people prefer silence? Some people live for the noise. If the engine knocks, it'll knock. We won't run out before the valley, unless you keep driving like there's a fire behind us. The sign should be there. Or maybe it's not. It's hard to tell with this fog.
It wasn't a random time. It was the moment you decided you were done. You're being vague to avoid the point. And it's not "the engine's going to knock," it is knocking. Listen. If we hit the valley with three liters left, it's on you. You were too busy being philosophical to check the gauge. Grab your coat, the fog is getting thicker. Keep your eyes on the road for once.
How can you hear a knock over this drumming? You’re jumping at every little sound because you want there to be a crisis. If it's on me, then fine. It’s a car, it’s not an omen. You're acting like the fuel gauge is a moral compass. And keep your voice down, the fog is heavy enough without you adding more weight to the air. It was a perfectly good lamp, too.
It was a cheap plastic thing from a clearance sale in Bristol. Don't lie to me. And the drumming is just the wind hitting the roof, or maybe it's the gasket. You say it's not an omen, but you're driving like you're waiting for something to happen. If we run dry, we'll be walking for two hours in this mist. That's not a crisis, it's just a massive waste of time.
It wasn't a clearance sale. It was a gift, but whatever. And who says we're waiting for anything? I'm just driving. You're so obsessed with the "what ifs" that you're missing the actual road. If we end up walking, we'll walk. It's not the end of the world to stand in the mist for a bit. Stop acting like every little inconvenience is a structural failure of our lives.